


The Hand You're Dealt

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Alpha Gil Arroyo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Changing Tenses, Flashbacks, Getting Together, Kidnapping, M/M, Malcolm Bright Has Low Self-Esteem, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Mutual Non-Con, Mutual Pining, Omega Malcolm Bright, Past Non-Graphic Mutual Non-Con, Something Made Them Do It, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:46:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: When Gil and Malcolm have little choice but to share an unplanned heat, their relationship is fractured.But time should heal all wounds, right? Except the universe throws them another curveball in the form of a baby, and now they have to figure out where they stand as they navigate their impending parenthood.(Spoiler alert: they manage it.)
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Comments: 20
Kudos: 64
Collections: PSon Goblin Swap Summer 2020!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoejoy24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoejoy24/gifts).



> This ended up angstier than you asked for, but I hope you like it, Zoejoy24!
> 
> Thank you to the people who cheered me on - the draft doc was lovingly named creme frash on their suggestion.

At first, he’s not sure what the commotion is. He’s in the living room with JT, the both of them looking over the perfectly preserved snapshots of the deceased family’s life. There’s homework strewn across the coffee table. A glass of tepid water sits on the corner closest to the recliner. The TV remote peeks out of the haphazard bundle of a throw blanket on the couch. If not for the set of bodies laid out execution style in the master bedroom, Gil would think this scene was minutes old rather weeks.

The stench helps, too. Dani made a slight face when they first walked in, but JT and Gil have seen — and smelled — more than enough death to be so visibly taken aback. Edrisa, of course, was the least fazed of all of them. According to the neighbors, it had been at least two weeks since anyone in the family was seen outside, which wasn’t at all unusual considering the parents were apparently very traditional and refused to let their two omega daughters out of the house unaccompanied during the summers. They were convinced an alpha would snatch them off the street. Not even the neighbors could be trusted. The only reason anyone called was the growing pile of packages on the doorstep.

Gil grits his teeth and shakes his head. Two weeks is a low estimate. Edrisa barely looked at the tableau upstairs before guessing the time of death was closer to three or four weeks prior. Their executioner could be across the world and back by now. If the Alpha father had less archaic views, maybe someone would have noticed sooner. The trail would be fresher, the clues less easy to miss under the decay and pervasive scent of death. He’s not picking up much through it. It’s doubtful JT or Dani are getting anything more. 

JT, at least, hasn’t indicated as such. Dani broke off to take Bright upstairs as soon as the omega arrived on the scene. Bright’s probably looking at the bodies right now. Maybe he’s crouched down by the set, his mind racing as he pieces together the beginnings of his profile, his thoughts slipping out for Dani, Edrisa, and the rest of the morgue team. Gil always liked watching it happen. There was something brilliant about the way the omega used his training — both from Gil himself and his teachers at the FBI academy — along with his unique perspective to formulate his theories. 

Now… Gil tends to take a step away when Bright goes in to analyze the scene. It would be a lie to say it’s for Bright’s sake and only his sake. Truthfully, Gil has been distancing himself for months, pulling away as he works through the incident on his own. He doesn’t ignore him, though he tends not to let the two of them be alone together, instead relying more on the presence of the team to help push away the visions that run through his head. He still listens to Bright’s profiles, his ideas. He addresses him even, and that’s progress. It’s doubtful things will ever be the same again, but Gil thinks they’re settling into something approaching their old normal. 

(He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to forget that scent.

Or the way Malcolm’s pupils dilated when it really set in. 

The way he curled up in the corner of the shipping container and tried not to writhe with the heat surging through his body.

The keening noises he made while Gil’s fingers dug into his hips, the alpha’s sweat dripping down off his brow to land on the small of the omega’s back.)

The front door bounces off of the wall as it’s ripped open. Both Gil and JT turn swiftly, on edge and ready for an attack. They catch sight of Dani darting out to the front of the house. Was someone in the house? Did one of the neighbors try to get in? With two alphas on the first floor, it should have been impossible. Their hands drift to their firearms as they follow her.

They don’t have to go far. She’s right out by the curb, brow furrowed, hand idly rubbing soothing circles on Bright’s back with every heave and gag. Her expression holds no hint of disgust at the puddle of bile not two feet away from her.

Gil stalls by the steps. Even that far away, he can see just how pale and worn the omega looks with his shoulders hunched and his hand gripping the alpha woman’s jacket for support. This can’t be because of the bodies. They’re gross, yes, but he’s seen Bright get up close and personal with victims in worse conditions before without blinking an eye. No, something is wrong. Gil lets his gaze slide past JT’s frustrated look straight to Dani, whose eyes practically challenge him to ignore this. 

Bright’s health must have been getting bad for a while then, and while both of his detectives saw it, he never noticed. The realization settles thick and heavy like molasses in his gut. 

“You’ve got the morning off,” Gil calls out instead of acknowledging any of it. “Take him to a doctor.”

For an uncomfortable moment, Dani just stares at him, jaw set. “We’ll be back,” she says eventually before leading Bright away.

Gil watches them go.

Unsurprisingly, the first day Malcolm — Bright, he should think of him as Bright — was cleared to come back, he did. He looked better than he had the last time Gil saw him, when they were both strong-armed into a hospital visit after JT and Dani managed to rescue them. The omega was still pale, but then again, he often was. Even as a kid, Bright was the kind of person who spent his time indoors and neglected to eat. 

Gil convinced himself that he wasn’t any paler than usual. He fully intended on not looking at him much at all and definitely not long enough to be sure. 

(He already had a very good look the month before.)

But Bright wanted to talk, and Gil couldn’t deny either of them that. Most of him dreaded the conversation. The only reason they’d shared what they had was circumstance. Gil knew he would never have considered it otherwise and was reasonably sure the omega never would have either. Still… there was some measure of fear there — fear that Bright had different ideas about the entire situation, that he wanted more than Gil was willing or able to give. 

“My — nothing’s changed,” Bright said firmly, insistently, trying to convince the alpha or himself or both as he closed the office door.

Gil dropped into his chair, feeling all of his years. “Pretty sure a lot has changed.” His right hand found his temple, and he rubbed at the tension there. For as much as he wants to pretend otherwise, it’d be stupid to deny that basic fact, to smile and agree that they could continue on as they had. A month ago, Gil saw him as someone under his wing, a friend even. Now he couldn’t quite divorce the omega before him from the one he had beneath him.

Which is why a small part of him was relieved Bright clearly had no intention of confessing newfound feelings.

“Why does it have to?” Bright looked him straight in the eyes. His jaw was set, his teeth no doubt clenched together, his entire being on the defense. “All you did was help me. How is that any different from anything else you’ve ever done for me?”

Because none of that involved him pressed up against the omega’s bare back, the pheromones in his nose begging him to breed him full. None of it ever left him with the knowledge of just how tight and greedy Malcolm’s hole was. Gil screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to banish the memory, but all it did was send him right back into it. The scent lingering in his nose, the frantic moans and cries, the hot clench around his knot — he was practically reliving it. 

The alpha slammed his open palm on the desk. “Because it is,” he snapped. “Because it does.” He felt so tired. “For now, at least. This isn’t something that goes away right away.”

Whatever Bright saw in his face must have reassured him. A hint of the tension in his frame eased, his expression tinged with a measure of defeat rather than flat-out devastation. “But it will.”

To be honest, Gil couldn’t be sure. He’d like to think the memories would fade soon enough, but the light scent in the air stirred them up again. Even the suit the omega wore did little to dissuade his mind from recalling the slight yet sturdy body hidden beneath it. He forcibly focused his gaze just to the left of Bright’s face. “Eventually.”

Bright nodded sharply. “I’ll go talk with JT and Dani about the case.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dani joins them without a word, eyes on the board full of notes as she takes her seat. 

Gil’s eyes trail over to the doorway. It’s empty. Bright is always drawn to the case, to the evidence, and this time shouldn’t be any different. Being sick certainly hasn’t stopped him before. 

But there’s still no sign of the omega.

“He took the rest of the day off,” Dani says curtly. There’s nothing sad in her expression to indicate that the doctor had anything negative to say. If anything, she looks annoyed to have to say anything at all.

He could press. Even though both she and JT are seemingly frustrated with the distance between him and Bright, surely she understands that he still cares. He could also pick up the phone and call Bright himself, of course. He takes a slow, calming breath to ease the sharp pang in his chest. 

He nods. “JT, fill her in.” Pushing away from the wall, he takes measured steps to the doorway and then out through the precinct to the closest bathroom. It’s empty, thankfully. The faucet squeaks and spurts cold water as his hand activates the sensor. Gil wets his hands, splashing his face with the frigid liquid, droplets clinging stubbornly to his goatee. He stares at himself in the mirror. His face is drawn, creased with the worry he doesn’t want to acknowledge, because he knows that if he does, he’ll take the rest of the day off and drive over to the loft to check on Malcolm.

He can’t do that. Not yet. 

With a grimace, he shoves his hands under the old air dryer on the wall, rubbing them together to try and help dry them quicker. The gold of his ring catches his eye. He’s well aware of what Jackie would say if she were still here. She’d certainly be unimpressed with how he’s dealing with this, but then again, he’s not sure he’d have as much trouble separating Malcolm from what happened in that shipping container if she were alive. He loved her with all of his being. No omega — nor beta, nor alpha — ever caught his eye while they were together. 

Gil says a silent apology before he gives up on the dryer. He walks back to JT and Dani with damp hands. 

Whatever JT was saying dies as he walks through the door. The younger alpha looks at him steadily. “She’s briefed,” he says instead.

Dani doesn’t bother saying a word. 

Gil nods, his only consolation the fact that JT doesn’t look disturbed, either. Malcolm — Bright will be back tomorrow. The omega will be ready to take on the case again, ready to absorb all the evidence and develop his profile, ready to ease Gil’s nagging concerns. He probably just has a minor bug, or maybe his lack of self care is finally catching up to him again. That has to be it. Reaching for his tepid mug of coffee, the alpha forces his mind to focus on the case before him. 

Tomorrow, he reminds himself.

Except that Bright doesn’t come in the next day. There are no messages or calls on Gil’s phone to indicate he won’t, but as the hours tick by, it becomes more and more clear that he’s taking another day off. The itch to reach out resurfaces. They still don’t have many leads in the case, so it wouldn’t be much of a waste of time to stop by the loft, would it? He could just confirm that Bright is alright, and then it’s back to the case. 

But the omega hasn’t said a word to him. Clearly Dani and JT knew he wasn’t coming in, because they aren’t worried in the slightest. Gil grimaces. A phone call might be better received than a visit. 

By the time lunch rolls around, he’s convinced himself to wait until tomorrow instead. The heavy feeling is back in his gut. It’s as if that one moment, that one instance of seeing Malcolm pale and off and sick, was enough to widen his field of vision. He’s been so focused on getting back to his feet and reorienting himself that somehow the distance between him and the omega grew out of his control. Gil only hopes it’s not permanent. 

His hopes wane as another day passes without Bright’s presence. And then another. 

On the fourth day, Gil does his best to stay calm through the work day. He sends JT and Dani out together to interview the neighbors again and goes out alone to talk to the parents’ employers. He can’t take the intentional silence any longer. Both detectives talk, of course, but never about Bright. Gil’s not stupid.

Which is why he waits until he can finally clock out to check in on the omega. He gets into his car, takes a moment to settle himself, surrounded by his own scent, in his own territory, and then drives towards the old hole in the wall he used to bring Bright to when they both were younger — when their relationship was a lot less complicated. Aware that the omega is probably still sick, Gil orders a burger for himself and a simple cup of soup that won’t upset Bright’s stomach. 

The loft looms over him as he gets out of the car. He dips back in to grab the double bagged food. Actually going in isn’t as easy, but he reminds himself that cold soup won’t help Bright. 

The steps creak lightly under his feet. He’s well aware that it gives his presence away. There’s no loud music that he can hear, so unless the omega is asleep or away, he’ll get some measure of forewarning. Gil knocks. 

Silence.

Shifting his weight to his other leg, Gil tries again.

Sunshine’s chirp is muffled by the door.

The bag of food is a dead weight in his hand. He nearly turns to leave, but he fights against the impulse, knowing that the fridge will be empty as usual. If Bright isn’t home, there’s a decent chance he’s at his childhood house, and that’s okay. It means that Gil gets a pass on seeing him alone for now. He’ll leave the soup and a note. He’s had a copy of the key to the loft for years, since before Bright left New York last. Fishing it out with numb fingers, the alpha slots it in the lock and lets himself in.

The air inside is stale and touched by something he can’t name. He hears a soft shuffling across space. “Bright?” He nearly writes it off as Sunshine, but then —

There’s a quiet whimper.

Not even bothering to set the bag down, Gil hastily makes his way over to the couch, only stopping when he’s close enough to pinpoint what that mysterious smell is. The plastic handles slip through a slack grip to thud against the hardwood. 

Bright’s scent, crisp and sweet, has a sharp, fresh edge to it. He’s smelled it before, of course, back before the omega went on scent blockers, which means he’s all too aware of the difference. That edge — goddamnit — is typical of pregnancy. 

Malcolm is pregnant, and it’s probably Gil’s. 

Both of them had faith in their team. They’d woken up in this shipping container knowing they would be saved before long, that Dani and JT would work even harder to make sure they found them in time. 

Three days was the tipping point. Doubt slipped in as they cut the meager amount of food they were left into smaller portions. They shared miniscule sips of water and took turns pounding on the metal walls. Gil was terrified, but he was worried more for Malcolm, who’d taken to attacking their unyielding confines until his hands began to swell, his eyes frantic and his ears deaf to Gil’s suggestions of rest. So the alpha did his best to remain calm for him. 

That night, Malcolm made himself as small as can be in the opposite corner of the container. The sweet, musky scent of his fertility wafted over to Gil anyway. 

“Kid,” Gil growled, shaking his head and pulling the collar of his sweater up over his nose. It was futile. Nothing short of space and a few walls would keep him from smelling him.

The omega snapped down on a groan. “I can’t help it.” He pulled his legs closer to his chest and ran a shaky hand through greasy hair. 

Although their captor was gracious enough to give them some supplies, he didn’t bother to include suppressants, which Gil knew Malcolm had been on since his very first heat. He also knew — strictly as his employer — that Malcolm had scheduled breaks from the pills to keep his body from breaking down. The omega was very upfront about that when he agreed to consult. He’d brought his schedule in for Gil to copy, and that was all that was said about it.

His next planned heat was months away.

Gil clasped a hand over the lower half of his face, pressing the machine knit tight against his skin, and prayed JT and Dani would make it in time.


	3. Chapter 3

Gil staggers over to a chair with an ashen face. Without thinking, his gaze zeroes in on Malcolm and his red-rimmed eyes. 

The omega doesn’t bother mustering up a smile. “I’m not bonding with you. You don’t owe me anything, so stop thinking about it.”

It’s true — the first thing that ran through his mind was making something work. For the baby. Gil winces. 

“I won’t fight you for custody,” Malcolm continues. He looks away now, down at the floor. “My mother’s lawyer is drawing them up.”

Gil can’t find even ground. The revelation that he’s going to be a father still has him reeling, and then this? He opens his mouth. He shuts it. He sticks his hand in his pocket and lets it ball up into a fist. “Bright,” he says desperately, not at all sure what to say. “I — you aren’t your father.” It would be a lie to say he thinks the omega would be a ‘normal’ parent, but he knows better than most that he would try his best for his child. Malcolm was insistent on not turning into Martin for as long as they’ve known each other. His capacity for love was already several steps ahead of his father’s back then.

But Malcolm laughs, and it isn’t a pretty sound. “We both know it’s better if I don’t have a hand in raising a child. You’ll be a good father, Gil. You’ve always wanted to be one.”

Gil stares at him, trying to breathe. Of course he has. It was all he and Jackie wanted for so long, and while they eventually came to terms with their fertility issues, there was always a part of him that still wanted. God help him, he still wants even in the face of Malcolm’s dim self-image. The urge to get up and comfort the omega is strong, too, but the distance between them keeps him in his seat. 

“I’m sorry,” Malcolm says in response to the silence. 

The two simple words pierce the alpha’s heart. He swallows thickly. “Let’s not make any decisions tonight.” He stands on trembling legs. “I brought soup.”

“You can put it in the fridge.”

Gil nods. He’s not sure he could stomach his own dinner right now. “We’ll have to talk.” 

“I’ll try to come in tomorrow.” Malcolm doesn’t bother to move off the couch, but it’s a clear dismissal.

Feeling numb, the alpha takes the thankfully still intact soup out of the takeout bag and slots it into the fridge without another word. He takes the bag and remaining food with him as he closes the door and locks the loft behind him, aware that the omega won’t be leaving his spot anytime soon. 

That night, Gil falls into a fitful sleep. 

It was taking all of his willpower to hold back now. The scent that was oh so tempting when it was light now filled the shipping container. Some of it was leaking out through the slight gaps that provided them with air, but the majority of it was stuck inside, hovering thick in the air between them. Malcolm was moaning and shaking in his corner with the effort of staying there. It was clear that he wanted to rip off his clothes and do something about the heat building within him and ever clearer that he refused to do so in front of Gil. 

Not that he would have much of a choice soon enough. 

Gil himself had both hands clutched over his mouth, his sweater and jacket sandwiched between. At that point, the thin layers were proving to be useless. He could smell the slick that pooled in the omega’s tailored slacks. He could smell how ripe he was. Malcolm wasn’t in his peak breeding years, but he was still fertile, and Gil’s entire body was tense in light of it. How could his scent be so tempting? 

JT and Dani needed to arrive now, or he was going to do something he would regret. 

The metal wall clanged as Malcolm jerked his head back, unable to hold back a cry as he forcibly crossed his arms, his face contorted in agony. He curled up into the wall. His new position revealed a glimpse of the slick-drenched seat of his pants.

Gil was up on his feet before he registered it. His eyes were drawn to the omega’s sweaty neck and the way it gleamed in the low light of the single flashlight they were left with. His hands itched to tug at the clasp of an expensive leather belt. He breathed deeply and realized that there was nothing covering his nose and mouth anymore.

They were both in too far.

The old radio alarm clock on his nightstand illuminates the room when he wakes. The red numbers read 3:37. He stumbles to his feet and into the bathroom, where he closes himself up in the glass shower stall and jerks the water on. The cold blast is enough to shake off the remnants of sleep but not the memories. Gil punches the wall as the water flattens his mussed hair. He’s man enough to admit to himself that he’s crying, too. Hot tears mingle with the frigid spray.

He lets it all soak into his shirt and boxers. He should have pulled back. His instincts should have seen Malcolm as anything but a potential mate. He should have let the omega writhe and moan and gasp — 

It takes another ten minutes before he can pull himself from his self-inflicted punishment. Any hint of arousal his dream caused is long gone, thankfully, but Gil’s not sure he’ll be able to sleep. Instead, he strips out of his sodden clothes and pulls on a fresh set. He wanders out into the living room. Resigning himself to a sleepless rest of the night, the alpha wraps an old throw blanket around his shivering shoulders, grabs the TV remote, and settles in on the lumpy couch. 

Somewhere around five, after a few old reruns of sitcoms he vaguely remembers from the 90’s, he forces himself to dress for the precinct. It isn’t unusual for him to go in early — especially not since Jackie passed. He knows from experience that JT will arrive about ten minutes before he has to, ever punctual but also deeply in love with the wife his job keeps him away from on particularly stressful cases. Dani will walk in with five minutes to spare. She lives closer and doesn’t need to leave too early to get there. Neither of them will know he’s been there for a few hours already. 

There’s no guarantee Bright will show up at all. 

Gil pours himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and scrubs at his eyes. Usually, Malcolm rolls in a half an hour or so after his detectives are required to arrive. Part of it is a desire to not seem too eager, even though they all know he is. At this point, his insomnia and night terrors aren’t secrets either. But he looked as if he hadn’t bothered to move all day when Gil saw him last. Maybe he wouldn’t have the energy today. Gil shakes his head and dismisses the thought.

Working on paperwork helps the time pass, and when JT knocks on his office door, a hot coffee from the nearest bodega in hand, Gil breathes an audible sigh of relief. He pushes the dregs of his old coffee to the side of his desk and accepts the cup. 

“You should try sleep sometime,” JT says idly. He looks distinctly unimpressed with the other alpha’s state. “Or maybe therapy.” He takes a sip of his own drink.

Gil levels him with a look, but he can’t hold it for long. He probably should consider therapy. He thinks of the baby he’s known about for less than a day and makes a mental note to look into it. The old, familiar stubbornness he learned from his superiors is showing — the stoic, internalize everything persona he’s seen too many cops adopt in response to the shit they saw on the streets. 

But in a few months, he’ll have a child depending on him. He takes another swig of his coffee and refrains from saying anything.

“I’ll go review the case,” JT says eventually.

Gil glances up at him before he can turn for the door. “When — if Bright comes in today, send him to see me first.”

The protective look that crosses his detective’s face both warms his heart and deepens the overwhelming sense of guilt he feels for not realizing things were wrong sooner. He can’t help but wonder if the alpha in front of him knows about Bright’s pregnancy, too. Dani must, since he’d sent her to take the omega to the doctor recently. 

“I saw him yesterday,” Gil bites out. “He knows I’m expecting him.”

JT nods. Although he shuts the office door behind him, Dani’s voice and his response drift through, muffled and muddled. 

Gil tunes it out. Which is why, when there’s a knock at his door ten minutes later, he assumes it’s Dani stopping in to pull him into the case again. “Come in!”

Malcolm gently closes the door. 

Startled, Gil takes a second to take him in. The omega looks marginally better than the night before. There’s a subtle bit of makeup on his face to hide the dark circles and make him less pale. He’s dressed well, too. The loose clothing is gone, replaced by a sleek suit that both conforms to his shape and gives no hint to the life he carries. If Gil didn’t know him as well as he does, he might have been fooled.

(He even has his blockers on. Gil tamps down on the part of him that yearns to smell the soft scent of baby again, that feels disappointed to catch the neutrality instead.)

Malcolm steps up to the desk and lays a crisp sheet of paper down in front of the alpha. “My appointment schedule,” he clarifies. “I thought you would want to be there.”

The paper has a list of dates, times, and places in impeccable handwriting that shows the omega’s schooling. Gil mentally calculates how much vacation time he can afford to take. He hasn’t taken a day in years, so he should have plenty both saved up and owed to him.

The click of the door opening catches his attention. 

“Bright —”

Malcolm looks at him with a vulnerable expression. “We can talk later.” 

Then Gil is alone again.


	4. Chapter 4

Malcolm doesn’t start consulting again right away. He takes a few more days off before he begins to ease back into working at the precinct. Even then, he sticks to the precinct and the occasional crime scene.

Gil finds himself appreciative of that as the omega starts to swell with their child. There’s a lot he can do at the precinct, including keeping his less modern-thinking peers from approaching Malcolm, but he’s much more limited in the field, and Malcolm has a habit of attracting danger. It’s comforting to know that his — that the omega and their child aren’t within reach of their killer of the week. 

Outside of the precinct, he feels a lot more unbalanced. Malcolm has clearly been going to these appointments for some time already, and there’s a rapport there between him and his doctor, who looks both relieved and disgusted at Gil’s presence. It probably doesn’t help that Malcolm still carries no mating mark. He and Gil sit next to each other in the office, but there’s a palpable distance between them.

Moreover, the doctor is clearly aware of how Malcolm feels about the baby, because he hands all of the pertinent information over to Gil, only focusing specifically on the omega when it comes to instructions on taking care of himself. 

None of that diminishes the awe the alpha feels when he’s present for the first ultrasound since that night at the loft. He watches the doctor squeeze the gel onto Malcolm’s stomach, watches him turn the machine on and place the wand to the glob of gel. It takes a moment for the man to find what he’s looking for.

“That’s your baby,” the doctor says.

Gil’s barely listening. His eyes are glued to the screen, lips just parted. Their child is barely anything recognizable. Hell, if not for the fact that he’s done his research, he’d be entirely dependent on the doctor to point out what’s what. Even still, he knows he’ll have to pour over the photo later that night to really understand what he’s looking at. 

“They’re on track in their development,” the doctor continues. There’s nothing abnormal about the ultrasound, he assures them. They’ll get all of the usual tests and scans throughout the pregnancy, but for now, there’s no cause for concern. 

Gil nods over and over again. He’s struck dumb by it all. It’s so much that he can’t help but look over at the suspiciously quiet omega, wanting to share the moment, wanting to feel less alone. But Malcolm keeps his eyes closed, brow furrowed and head tilted away from the screen like he’s in pain. The omega stays that way for the rest of the scan. When it’s over, he accepts the tissues to clean off his slight swell and then buttons his shirt with a stilted nonchalance. He leaves the room as soon as he can, signing out without waiting for the alpha at all.

It hurts. Of course it does. Gil is all too aware that Malcolm was right — they shouldn’t bond just for the baby. That’s a recipe for disaster with their child bearing a lot of the damage from the inevitable fallout. But that doesn’t mean that his heart doesn’t sink at seeing the lack of excitement on the omega’s face. It hurts even more when Malcolm presents him with the papers allowing him sole guardianship. He just drops them off without a word, a blankness in his eyes.

(Gil puts them in his desk, unsigned. It’s too much to deal with right then and there.)

The ultrasound picture finds a place on his nightstand, tucked into the frame of a picture of him, Malcolm, and Jackie from the omega’s college graduation. Every single time he gets a new one, he replaces it. The old printouts aren’t discarded, of course. He slips them between the pages of his favorite book to be kept safe until he can figure out a way to display or store them. They become a comfort for him, something to look at on the quiet nights at home.

(Malcolm never asks for one.) 

Gil also throws himself into preparations. He knew it would be a lot, but with all of the issues he and Jackie had, he never got the chance to see just how much work it was. Now he spends his days off researching formula brands, diapers, and cribs. He bookmarks website after website. He finds out what mommy blogging really entails. He even finds support sites for single alpha fathers, though he quickly rules those out for how depressing they are, firmly ignoring the way his chest tightens at the idea that Malcolm might not even want their child to know they’re related. 

He does a terrible job, if he’s being honest.

It’s harder at night. The dreams plague him again. This time, instead of dreams of the heat they shared in captivity, he dreams of what they could have. He dreams of going to sleep next to a heavily pregnant Malcolm. He dreams of getting to touch the swell of his stomach, of getting to feel the way their child prods at every nudge with a curiosity that makes the corners of his mouth curl. He dreams of seeing Malcolm happy. 

This Malcolm is just as excited as he is, and it shows. He smiles in a way Gil never gets to see anymore. He’s still burdened by his past, still itching to be out in the field with them, but he enjoys laying down and simply existing with their child, too. He always has a hand on his bump. His neck carries the imprint of Gil’s teeth, and his lips are welcoming.

That one stumps the alpha every single time. Somewhere along the line, he must have fallen in love. It isn’t purely affection or lust. Sure, knowing the omega is carrying his child affects him on both fronts, but it doesn’t quite explain the way he yearns for Malcolm to be a part of his life again, this time in a new way. His chest aches every morning he wakes up in an empty bed, every night he sits at the couch alone, his pitiful dinner for one in his lap. Going shopping for baby supplies by himself is downright depressing. He constantly feels the urge to turn and ask Malcolm’s opinion on color or quality or brand. More than once, he manages to convince himself he had plenty of time and leaves without buying much at all.

Gil keeps it to himself. The distance between them grows in tandem with the omega’s bump, but he reminds himself over and over that he shouldn’t press. If Malcolm doesn’t want to be involved, he shouldn’t have to be. Gil can’t force him to love the baby any more than he could convince him to bond. It would never work. It wouldn’t be right. As it is, the relationship they used to have doesn’t seem salvageable anymore. He’ll just have to be content with their child, with the life they inadvertently created.

JT’s words come back to him as he struggles with this.

_Or maybe therapy_.

In Malcolm’s seventh month, Gil picks up the phone and makes an appointment.


	5. Chapter 5

The ringing wakes him up immediately. Decades of being on the force has conditioned him that way. Murder doesn’t wait for regular business hours, and sometimes being on the scene as soon as possible makes the difference between catching the culprit and never getting close. 

“Arroyo,” he barks out, already pulling a sweater on, slacks strewn across his bed waiting for him. The scruff on the sides of his goatee rasps against the wool blend as the neck slips over his head. 

There’s a relieved sob on the other end of the line. 

His heart drops. “Malcolm?”

“I’m in labor,” the omega says frantically, his words blending together. 

Shit. Gil nearly trips over his pants as he yanks them on. It’s too soon. Malcolm is only thirty-six weeks along at most, and Gil knows the statistics. The smoothest births tend to happen between thirty-nine and forty-one weeks. Anything under that is considered preterm. Thirty-six is late preterm, thankfully, but even then, his hands shake as he shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can pull on socks.

“Gil —”

“Are you sure?” He grabs his keys and jams his shoes on. “Could it be a false labor?” _Please let it be a false one. Please let it be false. Please_.

“I’m sure.”

Gil winces. There’s nothing offended in Malcolm’s tone. Just terror. He barely remembers to lock the door behind him. Thankfully, his car, old as it is, is in beautiful condition, and so he wedges the phone between his shoulder once again as the engine stirs to life. “I’m on my way,” he promises. 

The drive to the loft is frustrating. He knows they live in the city that never sleeps, but each and every sharp inhale he hears on the other end of the line makes his worry ratchet up significantly. “Talk to me, kid,” he finds himself saying.

“It hurts,” Malcolm breathes out. “I thought —” Another hiss of air. “— I didn’t think they were contractions. But they’re too close together, Gil.”

“I’ll be there soon. I swear.” He prays. “Maybe they can stop it.”

Malcolm laughs hysterically. “My water broke.”

Gil swears. There are risks there, too. He’s pretty sure he remembers reading that the best option at how far along Malcolm is is simple — let the birth proceed. “Can you make it down the stairs for me? I’m getting close.”

“I’ll try.”

The alpha nods even though the omega can’t see him. “Be careful.”

Despite being on the phone yet, it’s an immense relief to pull up to the curb and see Malcolm waiting inside the first door to the building. Gil barely puts the car in park before he’s yanking the door open and meeting him halfway. The omega leans into him, grabbing his arm with a desperate hand. He almost doesn’t let go when Gil gets him settled in the passenger seat. 

The drive to the hospital is just as tense as the drive to the loft. Gil glances over at every stoplight to check on him. Neither of them talk, with him focused mostly on the road and Malcolm on his stomach. The omega is curled into himself as much as he can be. He has both hands on the swell beneath his soft sleep shirt, and his eyes are closed.

“It’s okay,” Malcolm murmurs, gently rubbing his bump. “Please be patient.” His breath hitches with another contraction. His scent is distressed.

The steering wheel creaks under the alpha’s grip.

(In the back of his mind, it registers that this is the most he’s seen Malcolm interact with his pregnancy. If not for the pleading edge to his words, this could be one of his dreams.)

Getting to the hospital seems to take forever, like each stoplight is dragged out, like everyone and their brother is on the road. Getting into a room is a flash of a moment. Gil only sort of remembers helping Malcolm into the ER. He thinks he told the woman at the desk how far along he was, what was happening. All he knows for sure is that they took the omega back shortly after they arrived and left him in the waiting room with a number, insistent that he would only be in the way with how worked up he was. 

So he sits there, watching the numbers and statuses of various patients scroll past on the TV. His knee jumps up and down. At some point, he pulls out his phone to text both of his detectives and let them know he won’t be in right away if at all. Neither of them reply immediately, but then again, it’s still much too early in the morning for either of them to jump up after realizing it isn’t a case.

He goes to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face when his phone pings. It’s JT, unsurprisingly. Part of him feels bad for no doubt waking the man up, because he knows that the other alpha man tends to stay up once he’s awake.

_Don’t worry about it_ , it reads. _Stay with them_.

Gil pats his face dry with a thin, scratchy paper towel from the dispenser. He shoots off a _thank you_ with shaking hands. 

An hour later, he gets a _Keep us updated_ from Dani. He replies in the affirmative as he orders a black coffee from the coffeeshop on the main floor of the hospital. He doesn’t bother to let it cool down, instead taking a deep swig from the recycled paper cup as soon as it warms his palm. So far, Malcolm’s patient number has consistently shown as in progress on the screens. The caffeine probably doesn’t help his worrying, but all Gil can think about are the risks. Their child could be underdeveloped, have problems breathing, be underweight. 

And no one is telling him anything.

He drops the empty cup in the nearest trashcan and settles in before one of the TVs. 

The number passes again. No changes.

And again. No changes.

And again. Room 317.

Gil stumbles to his feet and follows the signs until he finds it. He stalls when he sees the number on the wall next to the doorway, the whiteboard underneath declaring the occupants as Malcolm Bright and Baby Arroyo. He brushes a hand across his mouth, takes a breath, and walks in. He stops again for an entirely different reason.

Malcolm’s in the bed in a hospital gown. The bags under his eyes are dark, and his face is creased with must be the remainder of the pain he dealt with during the birth, his loose hair barely hiding any of it. But more importantly, he’s pulled the gown down enough to expose his upper chest and tucked a squirming bundle under his chin skin to skin. As Gil watches, he gently rubs his cheek against the baby’s forehead, spreading his scent on their face and the little hat on their head. 

Everything he’s tried to hold back for the omega’s sake courses through him. He never expected Malcolm to bond with their child like this. He tamps down on his hopes. “Malcolm…”

The omega looks up at him tiredly. Hesitantly. “The doctor says she’s okay. They’re going to keep us for an extra day or two just in case.”

“She?” A daughter. He wonders who she’ll take after, but even more, he aches to get a clear glimpse of her.

“Our — your daughter.” Although Malcolm makes as if to hand her over, it’s clear that he’s reluctant to let go. 

Gil shakes his head and pulls a chair over instead. “Our daughter,” he corrects quietly. “I never signed the papers, Malcolm. If you want to be a part of her life, I won’t be in your way.”

It hurts to see the way the omega tears up, curling over their child. “Thank you, Gil. I thought — I was so sure I could do this, but I can’t. I should have known I couldn’t.” He scrubs at his eyes angrily, ashamed. “I’ve wanted her for months,” he admits.

She opens her tiny mouth and starts to cry. Malcolm scents her again, rocking her slowly until she quiets again.

Gil takes in all of her he can see. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought it would be better if you raised her,” Malcolm says simply. He looks away. “I figured you thought the same. You’ve been pulling away for long time.”

Cursing himself for thinking he was giving the omega space, Gil shakes his head. “I didn’t want to push you into anything, kid.”

Malcolm bites his lip. “And if I want it?”

They can’t afford any more miscommunication. “Want what?”

“To raise her. A relationship.” The omega looks up at him. “Both?”

Gil takes a deep breath and reassures himself that this is real. It’s not a dream. In his dreams, Malcolm would already be happy here. They’d already be bonded. “I’d love that, but I’m willing to wait as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Malcolm murmurs. Hesitating briefly, he reaches out for Gil’s hand and tugs it until the alpha scoots closer. He shifts in the bed, laying down with their daughter swaddled on the bed next to him. 

Gil takes the unspoken offer. He leans in and scents the other side of her face, chuckling wetly when her face scrunches up at the brush of his goatee. 

They’ll figure this out.

Together.


End file.
